


Absence

by endoftheline7 (orphan_account)



Series: Survival [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/endoftheline7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love had not factored into Hannibal's world view, had not even been a possibility, but it had been love that destroyed him in the end, from the inside out.</p><p>The worst part by far, is that Hannibal would do it all over again. For Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence

**Author's Note:**

> Technically, it's not unrequited love, but Hannibal thinks it is.

_1._

He doesn't regret it at first.

The year is filled with forgiveness - Hannibal knows Will isn't ready to see him yet, so he doesn't blame him for not coming. He does miss him, but his affection for Will prevents him from feeling angry at the rejection. He's not bitter.

Not yet, at least.

It's a mundane life, very repetitive, but Hannibal copes, and loses himself in his memory palace. He lives in art galleries and museums, recalls strolls he took by the Arno and visualises the Primavera, over and over again. He lives in beautiful things, which means that Hannibal is not surprised when most of all, he pictures Will.

Will; his unfailing pessimism, his brilliant, beautiful mind, his _acceptance_.

He mainly thinks about his conversations with Will - Hannibal has never been one to care for looks, never been fixated on anyone's appearance before, apart from something on a simply aesthetic level, but he indulges himself occasionally, because it's _Will_. His pink lips and unruly curls that Hannibal has wanted to have his hands in since day one, are star features in his memory palace. Will's looks don't really matter to him, but they _are_ an added bonus, he will admit.

So yes, Hannibal misses Will, but it's not so hard. Not at first. He's spent time away from him before, and he can do it again.

One thing he does regret however, is not spending as much time with him as he could. He has always prided himself on his palate, and therefore, understandably, is a little disappointed that he never got the chance to taste Will.

He's almost ashamed to say that he doesn't mean that in the way he usually does.

For once he doesn't actually want to _eat_ someone, and he quite truly _doesn't_ want to eat Will, not anymore, at least. He just wants to _be_ with him, to hold him; to taste not his flesh, but his lips and his skin. Falling in love has certainly been an unprecedented event in Hannibal's life. Not unwelcome, per se, but unexpected. He's not sure how to act.

Perhaps turning himself in had been a little rash, but for the first time in a while, Hannibal hadn't know what to _do_. Only hours before, he had been cutting Will's head open, set on _eating_ him, because that's the only way he's ever really known when it comes to love. But the thought of it, of Mason Verger _killing_ Will, of taking _his_ Will, had changed his mind. He had watched Will sink his teeth into Cordell's flesh and been filled with pride, had felt the weight of Will in his arms as he carried him to safety, and the prospect of eating him had been _lost_. His love for Will was far stronger than any other instinct he had.

And then Will had rejected him.

He had been prepared, of course, he had known that it was a possibility, but had allowed himself to hope, just that once, for something different. That had not been how things happened.

_"I'm not gonna miss you. I'm not gonna find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't wanna know where you are, or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore," Will said softly, a sense of finality infiltrating his voice._

Hannibal had finally understood the metaphor of heartbreak as he heard those words.

Words had never meant so much to Hannibal, until Will had entered his life. They could be used to lie and deceive, they could be used to make art. There was a simple beauty in their eloquence that he could appreciate, but he had never felt a personal connection to them. But then Will had come along and used them to make Hannibal _feel_ , used them to make him fall in love, and he had changed his mind. Words were not just beautiful, but meaningful, too. It was precisely this discovery that had been his downfall in the end, because words hadn't just been used to make him love, but had been used to make him hurt.

It was then that he'd made the decision - being locked up would be bad, but the idea of never seeing Will again... It had been too painful to bear. Despite the fact that many would call it twisted - fake, even - Hannibal knows that what he feels for Will is real, and it is love.

It's this love that gives him the hope that he'll see Will again.

He'll come to him eventually, whether it be in six weeks or six months, and all Hannibal has to do is wait.

 

_2._

The next year resides more in resentment than forgiveness.

Not resentment toward Will, no, Hannibal could never hate him, but resentment toward _himself_. He doesn't blame Will for rejecting him, he blames himself for falling in love with Will in the first place. Love is a biological and chemical reaction, Hannibal knows this. His feelings about Will are nothing more than a fatal mix of Dopamine, Serotonin and Oxytocin, and yet he still can't control his heart beating faster when he thinks about him, can't control his ridiculous _pining_.

His body is a traitor, aching for touch that he cannot have, yearning for love that he will not receive. Longing for Will isn't doing him any favours, just succeeding in making him miserable, so why won't his body listen? Why can't he _stop_?

He had been so fascinated by Will at first, had craved to get under his skin with such a determination that he had surprised himself, and he had wanted it so much that he had become reckless. He had become blind to the fact that Will was getting under _his_ skin too, and here he was: Hannibal Lecter, in all his glory. Reduced to nothing more than a prisoner, to a lovelorn _fool_ , who had risked so much for one man, and it had ruined him.

His own mind and body have betrayed him, and it's different to Will's betrayal - the only true betrayal he has ever experienced. With Will, it was just painful, but when it's his own body doing the betraying, it's downright _disorienting_. He is so used to being in control of everything, so much so that he hadn't even considered the loss of control over his own mind as even an _option_.

Then, he had met Will.

Will had changed _everything_. Hannibal had put so much on the line for him, had been so _willing_ to do anything he could to be with him, and so he had - he had exposed himself. He had a _life_ here in America, a job, patients, friends, and he had decided that he wasn't going to let anybody see, no matter the circumstances. Love had not factored into Hannibal's world view, had not even been a possibility, but it had been love that destroyed him in the end, from the inside out.

The worst part by far, is that Hannibal would do it all over again. For Will.

He disgusts himself sometimes, when he thinks this way. Since he first met Will, he has become something unrecognisable; he doesn't know himself so well anymore, can't completely trust himself. Not when it comes to Will.

The ache Hannibal feels for him is more prominent now, it has been too long since he has looked at him, drunk him in. It's been years since he has experienced that very special kind of nourishment he can feel at simply the sight of Will Graham.

He misses it. He misses _him_.

It's a new feeling, to long for someone with this kind of intensity. It takes his breath away, makes his heart squeeze. He doesn't like it. Will should've come by now, should've missed him _too_ , and come to visit him at the very least. For one last goodbye. But that hasn't happened, and Hannibal is still alone, drowning himself in memories of Will.

It's a tough realisation, that his beloved may not feel the same. Will had feelings for him on some level, and of that, Hannibal is sure. Apparently that level was not the one that Hannibal wanted from him though, and Will believed that what they had was merely friendship. It stings, but he reminds himself that there's nothing he can do about it now.

_"You delight. I tolerate."_

He and Will are not the same. That had been his mistake - believing that they could be. Perhaps if he'd done things differently, Will could delight with him, but it is too late for that now.

He needs to move on. He's tired of waiting.

 

_3._

Moving on is easier said than done.

Feeling love for someone is a rare thing for Hannibal, and feeling love in the way he does for Will is utterly unique, and therefore getting over him is an impossible feat, since he just doesn't know _how_. Instead, he has now resorted to _fantasies_. Memories had sufficed, for a while, but now, they are not enough.

He doesn't imagine anything extravagant at first, it's all realistic, but still fake nonetheless. Conversations he has never had with Will spread throughout his mind, dreams of them together. As humiliating as it is, he comforts himself with the fact that nobody else will ever know. Hannibal Lecter has never been one to let his mind dwell on the unattainable, he doesn't hope for impossible things, they hold very little meaning. But here he is, doing just that.

It starts small. He imagines Will finding out what he was earlier and accepting him for it, imagines what would've happened if Will had decided to run away with him without waiting for Jack. He goes back through his memories meticulously, wondering what could've happened if he had changed even a single detail, made one different decision.

However, it morphs into something bigger. He wakes up in the night, panting and hard, arousal clouding his vision, at the sight of Will covered in blood, and drifts off in the day visualising Will's hands dancing over Hannibal's skin, pretending that he can hear the sounds of Will's moans. He pictures days they could've had, Hannibal cooking for him, holding him as he falls asleep, listening to his light snores in the dark. He often comes back to himself to see that he has drawn Will, over and over, looking as radiant as always.

This is not indulgence. This is something outside of his control, and he can't seem to stop himself from doing it. Having his freedom taken away hasn't made him mad, like many would expect, but it has made him weak, and he hates it.

Missing Will is a special kind of agony, and it makes him feel hollow. It makes him feel fragile. He has been in here for three years, without hearing even a mention of Will, a whisper, and if Alana were to say anything about him, Hannibal fears that he would shatter. He doesn't have power over his emotions or actions anymore, not when they involve Will.

Losing hope is strange, most of all. Because he never had it before - he didn't _need_ it. Hope was petty, it was unnecessary, but now he mourns for it. Will had gifted him with it, given him love and hope and beauty and everything else that he had dismissed as frivolous before, and then snatched it all away so cruelly. Hannibal has already gotten a taste, however, and he has lowered himself enough to _want_. He wants love again, he wants hope. He wants Will.

There is no denying it - Will stirs up passion in him that he hadn't even known was there, and it makes him _ache_.

If only things had gone differently.

_"The teacup is broken. It'll never gather itself back up again," Will remarked flatly, and Hannibal was surprised at the emptiness of his voice. He felt his heart sink, dreading what Will's next words would be._

Things didn't go differently, and Will had meant it. While Hannibal had tried to change his mind, Will wasn't having any of it, and he was telling the truth when he told Hannibal that he didn't want him anymore. Hannibal realises that now, finally.

He knows now, that Will won't come to visit him, or see him. He doesn't need closure, he already has it.

He has left Hannibal behind, left him here waiting for Will to return, which is something that will never happen.

It hurts. 

 

_4._

The outside world is chaos, but it doesn't reach Hannibal.

He doesn't care about some new killer that everyone is tripping over themselves to catch, he cares about Will. His mind has been tinged with hope - could this mean seeing Will again? He doesn't have to wait very long for his answer, because that is precisely when he enters, and Hannibal feels his eyes fly open in surprise.

He stands with his back to Will, hiding the fact that he's buzzing with nervous energy, and breathes in.

The scent that encompasses the room is so utterly and absolutely _Will_ , and Hannibal's heart lurches at the comforting familiarity of it all.

"That's the same atrocious aftershave you wore in court."

He turns, facing Will, staring at him for the first time in years, knowing that he can't look away for a second, can't miss anything. Will swallows, and replies.

"Hello, Dr Lecter."

"Hello, Will."


End file.
